Life comes in
bursts; in gushes, violent
rushes of air, in
flashes so fierce
they blind - as love does -
eyes from seeing and jolt
black-cold blood
into being.
It comes in a flood,
ancient as birth, in
currents which shock
and startle the earth,
and when
the waters die down
into the land,
the dry still remains
in the desert sand.
But we, with our
linear lives live in the
in-between, apart, and
unseen, in the great gaps
of the great peaks -
and for hours, weeks,
we wait
(and barely survive)
for time to arrive
in the wind.
